Porcelain Doll
by UnstoppableForce
Summary: He just hoped he could be put back together again. Slash - Gibbs/DiNozzo
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No, I don't own NCIS.

Warning: Implied rape, also this fic is slash but easy enough to read as gen. :)

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He didn't know how long he'd been here.

Wherever 'here' was. He didn't know.

He shivered, pulling his blanket around himself a little tighter. It was the only thing he had, his blanket. All that they had given him. It didn't cover him completely - his legs were exposed from the knees downwards – but it gave him something nicer to lie on, and it wrapped around him, bunched around his neck a little, covered all it needed to. It gave him warmth, felt nice against his skin, and gave him that little bit of protection.

Until they took it away from him again. _No, not thinking about that._

He pulled his legs up to curl into the foetal position, adjusting his blanket to cover them before shuffling around a little on the thin mattress he lay on, covered in stains from things that he didn't want to think about. Not now, not ever.

He lay there for a few minutes, then began to think about Gibbs. Silver hair glinting in the light... icy blue eyes you could lose yourself in so easily... the rarest of his smiles, so brilliant, so bright, so strong it could send a storm running for cover...

He sighed happily before dozing off.

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They came for him, sometime late in the night. They took his blanket away from him before doing things that he didn't want to think about.

When they were done (it took a while, there were five of them), they threw the wadded up blanket at him.

He was so cold, but he hurt too much to try and manoeuvre himself under it. Instead, he pulled it to his chest and clung to it like a child would their favourite toy, before attempting to sleep once more.

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The next time he awoke, it was to loud bangs, gunshots and yelling. Lots of yelling. He recognised the voices but didn't want to try shouting an answer to them; he didn't want to ruin the moment in case it was a dream.

Then the door to his prison flew open, a cloud of dust in its wake. The door bounced off the wall with a clatter, and there he was.

Tony's knight in shining armour.

NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Tony glanced over his rescuer/lover/boss, and decided that knight in shining armour wouldn't really fit, considering the 'armour' wasn't exactly shiny. More flat, dull black with a heavy coating of thick grey dust that clung to everything, including, Tony noted slightly hysterically, a large pile of it on the top of Jethro's head.

He tried to sit up but his muscles wouldn't let him, so he yelped and flopped back down then Gibbs was there, at his side, carefully, ohsocarefully picking him up off of the filthy stained mattress and pulling Tony to him, wrapping him in his arms gently, like he was one of those porcelain dolls that had always creeped him out because they were supposed to look real but they didn't, not really. They just looked creepy and unreal and Tony also guessed they were supposed to look alive but they didn't. Not to him.

As Gibbs started to move them away from the mattress, Tony reached an arm out, snagging his blanket, needing the extra security as much as the coverage. The blanket was arranged on him, then he was lifted up properly again, like one of those dolls. Tony thought about it as he was carried through the door, down a short hallway then up the stairs into the light.

He was more like one of those dolls than he'd first thought. Fragile, at least for the moment, unreal, the way everyone was staring at him like it was some sort of miracle him being there, and then the last thing. The not-looking-alive thing. Tony understood that.

He might look alive, but inside, deep down... he was as dead as one of those dolls, and fractured too, like he had been dropped but not from a great height, something smaller, something that didn't cause as much damage. Something that could be fixed, in time, with the right tools, with the right knowledge, with patience.

He just hoped he could be put back together again.

_-Finis-_


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, I decided to add another chapter. More than likely won't be any more however.

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He sits on the couch, staring into space. Gibbs is in the kitchen making waffles, one of the few things he will eat now. He hopes that at some point he can face eating other foods, yet at the same time he doesn't hope, because hope has become something foreign to him now. He has forgotten how to after losing it in the cellar. He can't even eat pizza any more, not after watching them eating it in front of him, waving it around in front of his face then leaving him to starve. Even the smell makes him throw up.

He shakes himself out of his stupor as the plate of waffles is placed in front of him, Jethro sitting gently down next to him with his own. He scoots over, tucking himself in close to his lovers side and tugging his blanket around himself a little more. It's the same blanket as the one he had in the cellar; Gibbs had tried to make him turn it in to evidence but after the fifth near panic attack he'd given up trying. Gibbs wraps an arm around him while he finishes eating. Once the plate is empty his face is tilted up a little by the other man's hand.

"You gonna eat those?" Gibbs asks, pointing at his plate. He shakes his head, meeting Gibbs' eyes for a split second - all he can bear now – before turning his head further into Gibbs' side, hiding his face. He feels a little safer. He feels Gibbs sigh heavily before the arm moves from around him. He pulls his head up from it's safe haven to see what the other man is doing.

Gibbs is cutting the waffles up into small pieces. He wonders why for a second before it registers. _He's not going to..._

He was, apparently. Gibbs settled back down with the plate and offered him a small piece of waffle on the end of a fork. He accepted it gently before glancing up in the vague direction of Gibbs' face questioningly.

"You've gotta eat. Ducky'll kill me if you don't, and I'm sure you don't want that, do you?" Gibbs said wryly. A ghost of a smile crossed his face for a second at his lover's comment, before the next piece of waffle was offered to him. He considered it before taking it into his mouth.

Maybe he was hungry after all.

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Later that night he lay against Gibbs' side in bed, as close as he could get. He wished Gibbs was a blanket at times, wished that he could pull his lover around himself, wrap himself up in the safety that he'd never felt anywhere else ever before but he knew he couldn't, so his blanket had to do when he needed to cocoon himself. It had became his lifeline, of sorts. The only thing he had, the only thing he'd been able to cling on to. Gibbs had told him that he'd been gone for a month, but he wasn't sure he believed that. It had felt like so much longer.

He shuffled around in bed a little more before deciding to get up. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten up at – he checked the clock on the nightstand – three am (why always three am? He couldn't figure it out), and he doubted that it would be the last. He usually paced, or stood staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror until Gibbs got up. Tonight was going to be a staring night, he decided.

He stood in front of the mirror a few minutes later, not entirely sure how he'd gotten there since he couldn't quite remember. That wasn't uncommon these days either, he was on auto-pilot for the most part. _The lights are on and someone's home, but they don't want to talk right now, _he thought, absentmindedly rubbing at the angry skin on his shoulder. Burn marks, from the shower a few days previously. _The water still hadn't been hot enough._

He stared into the mirror, not moving a muscle except to blink occasionally until Gibbs found him nearly two hours later and led him gently back to bed.

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That afternoon, he decided to go into the attic while Gibbs was at work. He needed the distraction. After digging through old boxes and finding several photo albums, including the one from Gibbs' wedding to Shannon (she'd looked beautiful), he found a dusty, battered old box in the bottom of one of the wooden crates. He looked inside, to find a doll.

A porcelain doll.

Memories flooded back to him, those few lucid thoughts as he'd been rescued from the cellar. He nearly threw the box and the doll as far away from him as he could, but something stopped him. Maybe it was because the doll had probably belonged to Kelly, maybe it was something else. He didn't know. Instead... instead he sat the doll on top of the crate and looked it in it's glassy eyes.

"How..." He started, voice rough from little use. "How can you be so whole... yet I'm so broken?"


	3. Chapter 3

It. Won't. Leave. Me. Alone. -snort- This appears to be rapidly becoming a multi-chapter fic. Oh well. This one is from Gibbs' point of view, thought I'd do something a little different. :)

Warning: Some swearing.

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Tony was having one of his bad days again. Gibbs sometimes wondered if there was ever a good day now where Tony was concerned. _At least he's still alive_, Gibbs thought, but then again... sometimes he wondered if that was a good thing in itself. It wasn't that he would rather Tony be dead, but he did wonder sometimes if it would have been better. The way he was now, so scared of everything even if he'd gotten exceptionally good at hiding it around others... it just didn't fit in Gibbs' world. Tony shouldn't be like that, he should be the inquisitive, flirtatious, borderline annoying to everyone but Gibbs man that he used to be.

But he wasn't. Not any more. He was just going to have to deal with it. No matter how much he didn't want to, no matter how much he wanted to punch something, to rip it up into shreds. Preferably one of the men that did this to his Tony. _Patience Jethro_, he told himself. One of the bastards was still out there after all. Four of the guys were dead, shot when they'd rescued Tony. Rescued. Maybe that wasn't the right word, since Tony was still trapped in his own personal hell. They'd just changed his location.

He glanced at the ball of blanket on the couch, a tuft of brown hair sticking out of the top of it all he could see of his lover. Lover wasn't exactly the right word either now, they didn't do anything beyond chaste kisses and snuggling up together, be it in bed or on the couch. Gibbs didn't mind that. There was more to his and Tony's relationship than sex. Some people did have trouble believing that, but that was their problem.

He sat down next to Tony on the couch, the younger man instinctively shuffling over and pressing himself in close to Jethro's side. Gibbs stroked Tony's hair and tugged the blanket down a little so he could see Tony's face. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was going to be one of those nights when Tony couldn't face sleeping on a mattress, so they'd inevitably both end up on the couch, since Gibbs wouldn't leave Tony alone at night, and he doubted the younger man could sleep on his own anyway.

They'd gotten to the point where Gibbs could leave Tony alone for the day and go to work, but he couldn't go in early or stay late (not that he'd have wanted to anyway), and there was usually someone Tony knew around, either from his team or one of the other teams. Vance had half of the agency looking for the fifth man. They had a vague description (from one of Tony's more lucid moments), a partial print and DNA (Gibbs didn't want to think about where that had come from), but no ID, which was why two months down the line they were still no closer to catching him.

Or killing him. Gibbs wasn't picky, but if it was the latter he wanted to be there. He wanted to kill the guy. Slowly, over the course of several days, if not weeks. He let his mind run through what he could do to the bastard and let a sadistic smile grace his lips.

The doorbell rang, snapping Gibbs from his thoughts and making Tony jump. Quickly shushing Tony by brushing a kiss across his hair, Gibbs walked to the door to unlock it.

"Hey Gibbs!"

Abby. Not really the best timing, but he couldn't turn her away. Glancing over towards the couch Gibbs saw Tony looking up in interest. _Hmm. Okay, we'll see how this goes._

"Hey Abs, come in."

She bounced through the door, skull adorned purse in one hand and a plastic carrier in the other, contents as yet unknown. Skipping into the lounge she sat down in front of the couch and grinned at Tony, who was actually smiling back. _Well that's different._

Gibbs wandered through after her, keeping his distance but still a watchful eye (can never be too careful) as he listened to what Abby was saying to Tony.

"Hey Tony. How're you feeling today? I brought ice cream, you wanna sit and watch a movie with me?"

Tony froze. Gibbs knew instantly why. _Ice cream. What he'd been going out to get for us the night... the night he went missing._

He couldn't stop Tony as he fled upstairs, but he did stop Abby. Torn between explaining what had happened or running to check on Tony, he decided to do a little of both.

"Abby, I need to go check on Tony, and it'd probably be best if you go. I'll explain tomorrow, but it wasn't your fault, okay?" He said, quickly steering her towards the door.

Once the door was closed, he rested his head against it and took a deep breath before turning and heading upstairs.

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"Tony?" He whispered as he poked his head around the door to their bedroom.

No answer, which wasn't unexpected considering Tony didn't talk much these days. Gibbs looked forward to the few moments when Tony spoke. Then he could pretend that Tony wasn't broken, if only for a minute. He found Tony sitting cross-legged in the corner under the window, staring at a porcelain doll from who knows where sitting in front of him. Gibbs hadn't figured out why Tony suddenly had a fascination with it, or where it had come from since he'd never seen it before but he just chalked it up to being something to do with Tony's captivity, something he'd never know the reasoning behind.

He sat down next to Tony and wrapped an arm around the younger man, silently wondering if it was ever going to get any better.


End file.
